


Weathering the Storm

by Zimra



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the incident at Finwë’s court, Fingolfin consults with Finarfin. Fingolfin’s family hears conflicting versions of what happened and prepares for the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weathering the Storm

Arafinwë finished the last few sentences of the message to his father-in-law, then set it aside and tidied his desk before standing up. If he did not leave soon, he would be late for the council; though he did not like to involve himself in Noldorin politics any more than was absolutely necessary, he still found it useful to make occasional trips to his father’s court in order to stay informed. 

He had barely started making his way over to the door when someone knocked furiously, then burst in without waiting for an answer. Nolofinwë stopped just inside the doorway, dressed formally for council like his brother, though his clothes were dusty and slightly disheveled. His eyes gleamed with a combination of anger and fear, and he was breathing hard.

“What -” Arafinwë began, but Nolofinwë cut him off. 

“Fëanáro threatened to kill me.” 

Arafinwë stared at his older brother, struck dumb by this pronouncement. Nolofinwë crossed the room in a few long strides and sank down in the extra chair in front of the desk, slumping as though he had suddenly been drained of energy. 

“I tried to talk to Father before the council. You were right, it was a bad idea. I told him that Fëanáro was becoming dangerous, that if it was not dealt with soon he would do something terrible. I said that the king and the Valar had our support no matter what Fëanáro tried.” 

He saw the incredulous look on Arafinwë’s face, and said, “I know! I know, it wasn’t the most tactful speech I’ve ever made.” Nolofinwë put his head in his hands, staring down at the floor. “I never even found out what Father thought of it, because I had barely stopped speaking when Fëanáro came in, wearing a sword and a great gaudy helmet. It should not have come as such a shock; I knew he was making swords, the whole city knew he was making swords, but I’d never seen him go armed in public before, let alone in the palace.”

Arafinwë thought he knew what was coming, and a sick feeling began to take root in his stomach, but he did his best to keep his expression calm as his brother told him the rest of the story. When he stopped speaking, Nolofinwë looked at him expectantly, but Arafinwë found himself completely lost for words.

A moment later Nolofinwë leapt to his feet, gripped by a sudden panic. “I must go to Anairë! I have to warn her - what if he comes after her, or the children?” His eyes were wild as he started for the door, but Arafinwë was quicker and stronger than he seemed, and in an instant had blocked his brother’s way. 

“Calm down, Arakáno!” Arafinwë all but shouted, and the sound of his mother name distracted Nolofinwë enough to bring him shuddering to a halt. The youngest son of Finwë dropped his voice back to its usual volume and spoke calmly. “Fëanáro will not go after them. He does not wish to see your children dead. He is not a murderer, Káno. He acted in sudden rage and you will all be fine, though you would do well to stay out of his way for a while.” He put both hands on his brother’s shoulders and steered Nolofinwë back to the chair. 

“You weren’t there, you did not see the crowd,” Nolofinwë muttered, sullen with fear. “Half of Tirion saw what happened. The news will be all over the city by now, and no doubt greatly exaggerated. Perhaps Anairë believes herself a widow.” He gripped Arafinwë’s arm with such force that his younger brother had to fight not to wince. “They have to know what really happened. If Turukáno believes that some harm has come to me, he _will_ do something stupid.”

“I’ll send a message,” Arafinwë said at once, taking up pen and paper and sliding them across the desk to his brother. “In fact, I’ll send Findaráto. He’ll be able to help Anairë restore some order in your house, which I’m sure it needs at the moment.”

Nolofinwë was already scribbling, his usually messy handwriting almost illegible in his haste. Arafinwë knew Anairë would be able to read it no matter how terrible it was; they’d had plenty of practice writing to each other during the early days of their courtship, when Anairë had lived far from Tirion and her parents had forbidden them from seeing each other.

With his brother deep in concentration, Arafinwë quietly left the study and stopped one of the servants who was walking past, asking him to find the prince’s eldest son and tell him that Arafinwë wanted to see him immediately. 

He returned to find the letter for Anairë lying upon the desk, already sealed. Nolofinwë paced across the little room, which he did whenever he was worried about something and came to talk it over with his younger brother. These visits had grown so frequent in recent years that Arafinwë wondered how his brother had not worn a path in the floor by now. 

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” he asked, watching Nolofinwë carefully to gauge his reaction.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, and Arafinwë suddenly felt cold. If he changed the subject and his brother was very distressed Nolofinwë would sometimes snap at him for not taking the situation seriously enough, but this time he was too distracted even for that. Reaching for the pitcher of water on his desk, he poured some into a cup and handed it to Nolofinwë, who took it and drained it without a pause. He stopped pacing to set the cup back on the desk, then looked at his brother.

“What are we going to do?” he asked, his eyes begging Arafinwë to come up with some solution. 

“I don’t know,” Arafinwë admitted, “but we’ll think of something. It will all work out in the end, I promise.” It was a hollow sort of promise, the kind that Nolofinwë had made to his younger brother when they were children and their tense family situation had spiraled out of control as it sometimes did in those days. _The last time anything even remotely like this happened, we_ were _children._

The same thought seemed to have occurred to Nolofinwë, for he sighed heavily and resumed his pacing. “We’re not children anymore, Ingo,” he said quietly, “and our petty quarrels do more than upset Mother and Father; the entire city is watching and taking sides. It has to stop.” 

_It may be too late for that now,_ Arafinwë thought, but he could not bring himself to say it aloud.

~ 

Anairë watched her eldest son as he fidgeted in his chair in front of the sitting room window, looking out every few seconds to check the walkway leading up to the front gate. He might not look as much like his father as Turukáno did, but Findekáno had certainly inherited Nolofinwë’s inability to keep still.

A sudden, unwelcome image entered her mind of her husband lying very still indeed, slumped against the wall of the king’s council chamber with blood staining his formal robes, and her grip tightened on the wooden arm of her chair. _Don’t think about that,_ she told herself firmly. _They are rumors, nothing more._ The people of the city overwhelmingly supported Nolofinwë; surely his death would have provoked worse violence than anything the feud had ever caused before, and they would be able to see it through the windows of their house so near the palace. Her husband had to be alright.

_But if he is unharmed, why has he not come home?_

The question was written all over Findekáno’s worried face, present in each quick glance through the window behind him. Neither of them had spoken a word since Irissë had returned from her ride, demanding to know what had happened. Anairë had told her what they’d heard with the warning that she had no idea how much of it was true, and her daughter had stared at her for a long moment before storming off. Several loud crashes had come from the general direction of her rooms, but for the last hour or so she had been silent. 

Someone out on the street shouted something unintelligible, and Findekáno sprang out of his chair and leaned out the window for a closer look. After a moment his shoulders slumped in disappointment, but the tension returned to his body when he turned to look at her. 

“Mother, let me go and look for him. I know he’s probably just lying low, with Grandfather or Uncle Arafinwë, but I need to be sure. I can’t bear sitting here waiting for news to come to us!”

Anairë appreciated that he had only remained in the house this long for her sake, not wishing to leave her alone with her doubts. “I think not, my son,” she said in her most level voice. “If your father is safe, then he will return to us when he can. If, Eru forbid, he is hurt, you placing yourself in danger will only make things worse. We must not act until we know more.”

They both knew that if he chose to ignore her orders, there was nothing she could do to stop him, and though Findekáno showed no sign of leaving he had the look on his face that meant he was about to press his point. But before he could say anything more, they heard the gate outside slam open, and the sound of hurried conversation drifted up to them from the main entrance of the house. Mother and son shared a brief glance, then Findekáno sprinted for the hallway, Anairë following close behind at an only slightly more dignified pace. 

A very tall man with dark hair was being ushered inside, exchanging a few hurried words with the guards as he passed them. When the door slammed shut behind him, Anairë realized with a sinking feeling that it was not Nolofinwë, but Turukáno. _He looks so very like his father,_ she thought, and chided herself for her initial surge of disappointment. Her second son’s presence here was fortunate: now there was no chance of him looking for trouble elsewhere.

He was out of breath and his hair was falling out of the simple braid that was his preferred hairstyle when he did not have to appear formal. Anairë had never seen him looking so desperate, and when she embraced him she could feel him trembling. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked her as soon as she let go. Anairë nodded, and Turukáno went on, “I came here as soon as I heard. I had to know whether you were safe.”

“Where are Elenwë and Itaril?” she asked. 

“At home,” Turukáno said, frowning. “Elenwë and I decided it would be best not to tell Itaril until we know what really happened, and I wanted them to stay out of the streets for now.” He looked suddenly panicked. “Do you think they’ll be alright? Would it have been safer for them here, with all of us?”

“They will be perfectly safe where they are,” Anairë soothed, taking her son’s arm firmly and steering him towards the sitting room. They had not even made it to the door when he stopped short, his face filled with fear again. 

“Where’s Irissë?”

Anairë was about to tell him that his sister was in her rooms and there was nothing to be concerned about, when she heard footsteps overhead. Irissë pounded down the stairs the way she always did when she was angry, sounding more like a stampeding herd of cattle than a rather slender young woman. 

“I heard voices,” Irissë called, still too far up the stairs to be visible. “What’s going on?” She turned the corner into view of them all, then flew down the last few steps to fling her arms around Turukáno. He returned her embrace with equal fierceness.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, her voice muffled by her brother’s shoulder. “I was sure you had gone and done something stupid.”

Turukáno tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace. “Not yet,” he said, “but I will if I have to. Don’t worry, Mother,” he said fiercely, heading off the protest Anairë was about to make. “I won’t do anything until I know the truth.”

Satisfied for the moment (and knowing that it was the best assurance she would get from her second son), Anairë led Turukáno back to the sitting room and steered him to a chair. She sat down beside him while the other two remained on their feet, Findekáno leaning against the wall by the window so he could glance outside every couple of seconds, Irissë pacing the length of the room like a caged animal. 

“What have you heard?” Anairë asked, folding her hands in her lap and watching her son carefully. 

Turukáno scowled. “I heard that Father had some sort of disagreement with Fëanáro, and that Fëanáro swore he’d see him dead before the day was out. Of course, some say that he actually drew a sword and held it to Father’s throat, or that he cut him up a bit to teach him a lesson, or that he ran him clean through.” He was working himself up into a rage; Anairë knew the signs. “I’ve even heard that they fought a duel in the center of the Mindon and Fëanáro slew him while the whole city looked on.” He was gripping the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles had turned white. “I don’t believe the last one, though. If that bastard killed him, it would have had to be when he was unarmed. Father would beat him in a fair fight.”

“So,” Anairë said, stopping him before his anger got a chance to build any further. “You have heard nothing but rumors, just like the rest of us.”

Turukáno took a deep breath, and nodded. “I don’t know what to believe,” he said, his voice low and shaking. Irissë stopped pacing and watched her brother, looking concerned. “Mother...what are we going to do if he’s dead?”

The room fell silent. Anairë could feel her children staring at her; Irissë stood perfectly still, her arms crossed tightly and her shoulders hunched; Findekáno turned away from the window and took a step forward, watching his mother’s face carefully; and Turukáno looked at her with wide eyes and an expression of almost childlike fear on his face, utterly lost. 

She sat quietly for a moment and gathered up the frantic shreds of her own thoughts, forming them into some semblance of composure. Then she said firmly, “We will do nothing. We will remain here unless we are summoned by the king, and we will leave justice in the hands of the king and the Valar. We will do nothing that might compromise the safety of any other member of this family.” Here she fixed her gaze on Turukáno, staring him down until he looked away. “You will do nothing that might risk your own safety, for Elenwë and Itaril’s sake. If the news is bad, I will of course send guards to your house to bring the two of them here.”

“I’d kill him,” Turukáno said hoarsely, still staring down at his hands. “Even if Father is alive, if he hurt him or tries to make good on any threats in the future, I would do it.”

“I’d help,” Findekáno said from the window, and the uncharacteristic hardness in his voice told Anairë that he meant it. She exchanged glances with Irissë, who said nothing but did not look as though she were about to disagree with her brothers. 

The sudden sound of hoofbeats in the front courtyard made them all jump. Findekáno was already at the window, leaning out so far that Anairë couldn’t help fearing he would fall. 

“It’s not Father,” Findekáno said, calling back into the room over his shoulder. “I didn’t get a good look at them, but they’re wearing Arafinwë’s colors. A messenger?”

“News, then,” Anairë said, her heart lightened by the note of hope in her son’s voice. Turukáno and Irissë had already left the room, and Findekáno followed hard on their heels. Anairë remained in her seat; suddenly she felt so shaky that she did not trust herself to stand. Inwardly cursing her body’s rebellion, she rearranged her face into her most dignified expression, one that said she was a prince’s wife and that the messenger could be brought to her instead of the other way around. 

A shout came from the hallway outside, followed by a burst of loud conversation. Anairë remained very still, back straight, eyes fixed on the sitting room door. What would she do if the news was bad?

Her children burst into the room, all talking at once and dragging with them a fourth person, a young blond man who Anairë recognized instantly. They all stopped in front of her, and she stood up, her heart pounding, and took her nephew’s hands. “It’s good to see you, Findaráto. Do you have news?”

“Father’s alright!” Irissë shouted, before her cousin had the chance to speak. 

Anairë felt her legs start to tremble again as relief flooded over her, and she gripped Findaráto’s hands tightly. He seemed to realize what was wrong, and helped her to her seat graciously without drawing attention to the fact that she was leaning on him for support. 

“Uncle Nolofinwë is with my father, and he is completely unharmed,” Findaráto confirmed. The messenger’s tunic emblazoned with Arafinwë’s crest had been thrown on over his ordinary clothes, no doubt to give him unhindered passage through the city. “I was sent here to give you the news and to deliver a letter from my uncle.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Anairë. 

She tore open the seal with shaking hands, then found herself chuckling when she saw the piece of paper. Nolofinwë’s handwriting had always been terrible, but she was used to it, and this note was barely legible even to her. Holding the piece of paper close to her face, Anairë puzzled out her husband’s hastily-scrawled message. 

_My dear,_

_I am fine. I have not been harmed in any way, and you have no reason to worry. I am with Arafinwë, safe behind the walls of his house for as long as I need to be._

_I am sure you’ve heard all manner of terrible stories regarding what happened between my half-brother and me earlier today. This is the truth: I brought my concerns about Fëanáro to the king, just as I told you I would, but Fëanáro arrived in the throne room armed and enraged. He drew his sword and accused me of trying to supplant him as our father’s heir. I left the room without responding, as I could see there was no point in challenging him or trying to reason with him. He followed me outside, and in front of a large crowd threatened to kill me if I spoke against him to the king again. I left immediately without saying anything, and went at once to Arafinwë’s house to consult with him._

_Arafinwë assures me that Fëanáro poses no threat to the rest of you, but I confess I am not entirely convinced. For your own safety, I am begging you, Irissë, and Findekáno to remain at home until you hear from me again. If Turukáno, Elenwë, and Itaril are not already with you, I suggest you send for them; it will do my heart good to know that you are all together, and that way you will be able to keep an eye on all of our impetuous children more easily. I will likely remain with Arafinwë for some time, and there is no need for any of you to come looking for me._

_I have no idea what will happen now, but I doubt that my half-brother and I can remain at a stalemate any longer, or that Arafinwë will be able to distance himself from this conflict as he has in the past. Please, please stay safe and keep our children from doing anything reckless. Findaráto may be of some help to you there, although I would be grateful if you would send him back to me with a reply eventually. I will not be able to rest easy until I know for sure that all of you are well._

_All my love,_

_Nolofinwë_

“Mother?” Findekáno asked, concerned. Anairë looked up and saw that his face was blurred; there were tears in her eyes. She smiled at him reassuringly, if a little shakily, and held out the letter. Findekáno snatched it out of her hand and his brother and sister crowded around him, the three of them reading the letter together in perfect silence. As she waited for them to finish, Anairë wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and motioned for Findaráto to take a seat in one of the chairs, which he did gladly. 

Turukáno finished reading first, and sank down into his chair with a sigh of pure relief. A few seconds later, Findekáno and Irissë grinned at each other, and Findekáno handed the letter back to his mother. 

“Would you like me to get you some paper so you can write a reply?” he asked. Anairë nodded, smiling, and Findekáno hurried from the room, almost at a run.

“Turukáno, will you send some of the guards to fetch Elenwë and Itaril?” Anairë asked, and Turukáno stood up again. 

“Yes, but I would like to accompany them there,” he said stubbornly. “It’s the only way to be sure they’re safe.”

Anairë thought about arguing, but decided against it; she knew that Turukáno would never put anything above the safety of his wife and daughter, not even his pride - or his father’s.

“I can go with you, if you like,” Findaráto offered, standing up as well. Turukáno smiled a little at his best friend.

“I’d certainly welcome your company.” 

The two of them left in haste, talking quietly to each other as they went, and Anairë found herself alone in the room with her daughter. Irissë’s joy after reading the letter seemed to have worn off, and she stood in the middle of the room with her arms crossed and a bitter expression on her face. Anairë got up from her chair and crossed the room to pull her daughter into a hug, and after a moment she felt Irissë’s arms wrap around her waist. 

“Everything will be alright,” Anairë murmured, stroking her daughter’s hair as Irissë cried quietly into her shoulder, and she was not quite sure whether she was trying to reassure Irissë or herself.


End file.
